Number 52
by Nibzo
Summary: It's a cold day in February and England decides to sit down and watch the Superbowl with America.  Though a certain player may be giving him a few...problems.  And America is all too happy to help.  M for content, USUK.


**So this is actually my first fanfiction in the Hetalia section. Hmm…good stuff America and England is, good stuff. Though I wanted to read a couple of other fics and maybe look a few more things before attempting something like this.**

**Also, this idea has been running around in my head for the past month. I love Clay Matthews so. And during the Superbowl my friends and I were talking and they were all, "Dude, even I want to be fucked by Clay Matthews, and I'm straight." Basically I concluded that he is the manliest man of all…and don't you dare say anything about Chuck Norris because you are all dead wrong and that is blasphemy!**

**So…yeah. This is probably the longest one-shot I've ever written. But hey, it was all in good fun. The dialogue at the beginning I especially liked working with. And the…er…you know, why don't you just read it, yah?**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, Clay Matthews, the Packers, or the Superbowl. If I had to pick anything from that list that I could own, it'd have to be Matthews. He's just the most loveliest specimen of a man this whole world has ever known, and as much as I'd love to own Hetalia and turn US/UK into canon, I just could not turn him down. **

England didn't know why the bloke wouldn't pick up his phone. He had dialed the other country at least four times now, and each and everyone had ended the same way.

"Hey, you've reached America, the hero! Leave a message at the beep and I'll get back to you as soon as I can!" –beep-

"_Well,"_ he thought to himself, _"at least it sounds a bit more professional."_ No doubt England chewing him out for his rather ridiculous answering machine had helped him in changing the damn thing. Though if he could get rid of the obnoxious "the hero" phrase he would consider his job officially done.

"_Though I supposed it was really the stern talk he got from his boss that had made him change it."_

Shaking off that thought, he now stood outside America's New York apartment, putting his cell phone in his pocket. He had wanted to call and inform the younger country that he would be stopping by for a visit, but since his previous attempts as well as the most recent one had been in vain, he sighed and buzzed the button that was held under his human name, Alfred Jones.

Of course, there was no response to this either. Sighing, England pressed it again, a bit more agitated this time. His foot tapped and showed his impatience, and after the younger didn't answer again he repeatedly pressed the button again and again, all whilst whispering under his breath, "Bloody hell, Alfred, I know you're in there!"

"Hello?"

"Finally, what in the blazes is going on that you cannot answer your phone or your door when you are paged?"

"Huh? Iggy?"

"Let me in, it's bloody cold!"

He heard the click of the lock and hurriedly got out of the freezing New York winter cold, and then proceeded to head towards the American's apartment. The hallway looked well-kept and stylish, as always, but it was most likely that Alfred's actual living quarters were a sty. He scoffed; England was sure he had raised the boy better.

Reaching the American's door he wasn't surprised that it was already wide open; after the commotion he had made. He suspected that after all that the boy had opened the door right away to continue what he was doing. Much to his disgust, the place was rather unkempt, with clothes strewn everywhere and an assortment of cans and wrappers cluttering the floor. He automatically started picking these things up, collecting the garbage and dirty clothes into piles to be taken to the hamper or the garbage can when he was finished.

"Aaron Rodgers throws the ball, the Steelers coming up close behind him and wow, what a throw! Caught by Jordy Nelson and that is a touchdown!"

England jumped in his skin when he heard the American shriek. "Yeah Packers! Touchdown, baby!" The smaller blonde felt his heart beat wildly as he tried to calm himself down. Nothing had happened but…a stupid score for that ridiculous excuse for football.

"America!"

To which he turned around from his position on the couch. "Hey Iggy! I was wondering when you'd get here!"

"Why in the Queen's name are you watching football when your place is an absolute mess?"

"Eh, I'll clean it up later," America shrugged, turning back around to continue watching the game. "Why don't you come over and watch with me?"

"I would rather die."

"Oh come on, don't be that way! C'mon, sit your old ass down on a chair and grab some popcorn!"

England was about to interject again, but by then America had turned his attention back to the television, too engrossed in the sport than the Brit who was cleaning his house. He sighed, knowing well that anything he said or did from this point would be ignored, so he instead headed over to the American's living room and sat himself down in a squishy chair, plopping himself down loudly to make a point.

"So…this is why you ignored all my calls?"

"Dude, it's the Super Bowl."

A pause. "You're a git, you know that?"

"Uh-huh, yeah, whatever. Pizza?" the American said, offering England an especially greasy slice. The Brit grimaced and shook his head, to which the taller blonde just shrugged and took a bite himself. In an attempt to make conversation, England cleared his throat, "So…who is who?"

"Green and gold are the Packers from Wisconsin. Black and gold are Steelers from Pennsylvania," he said it short, choppy sentences through his stuffed face. England frowned at America, and tried to continue a conversation. "So, I see you're doing well, correct?"

"Eh, it goes."

"Keeping in shape, I see?" he laughed, "I would have thought all those burgers and pizza and junk food would get to you and turn you into a whale," he was laughing to himself, his attempts to get America to actually talk with him only getting slight shrugs and one word responses from him. "Eh," he responded, finishing off his slice of pizza and taking another slice.

Knowing at this point it was hopeless to even try to converse with him, he sighed, crossing his arms and digging himself into the soft chair. My as well just watch and try to enjoy himself, even if he didn't know jack shit about the game.

"Interception! Whoo!"

England jumped again, the American's sudden outburst scaring him out of his thoughts and breaking the silence that had sat between them. "Go, Collins! Go, go, go! Faster, almost there! Yeah, touchdown!"

"Are you trying to give me a bloody heart attack?" England gasped, taking in a big breath of air from being scared once again. "Good God, your constant shouting is going to kill me!"

"But did you see that, Iggy? He totally grabbed the ball and stormed all the way down the field and that leap! It was just in time and touchdown, baby!"

England was just about to spit something back at him when his eyes caught glimpse of a beautiful face on screen. The man had taken off his helmet and was shaking the sweat from his long golden locks in what looked like slow motion to the Brit. He gulped, feeling the lump in his throat grow as he suddenly felt overwhelmed. This perfect specimen of a man was right there in front of him, and as the camera zoomed out and gave the smaller blonde a glimpse of his brilliant, well-toned muscles England couldn't help but feel the room getting hotter.

"W…w…who," England felt embarrassed stuttering, but couldn't help the shakiness in his voice, "who is that?"

"Hmm?"

"That man with the long hair. The one in the green and yellow."

"Oh, 52? That's Clay Matthews. He's a beast, isn't he?"

"And he plays for the Packers?"

"Yeah, I think this is his second year. He started in 2009, played for University of South Carolina before that. His dad and grandpa were football stars too."

It had felt like his heart had nearly stopped as he sucked in a dry breath. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, he was NOT getting a boner right here, right now, was he? _"Thing disgusting thoughts think disgusting thoughts,"_ he chanted in his head, closing his eyes tightly as he imagined the worst, like France finally winning a war or his beloved fairy friends being captured and sold on the black market. That seemed to settle him for now.

"No!" America screamed, pounding his firsts on the arm of the chair. "No, no, no!"

England looked up, noticing the time of the television. He had obviously spent a bit of time to himself; last time he had checked the clock the game had just started into its second quarter, but now the clock read 9:50 and the team that previously had zero _("Was it the Steelers, or the Packers?"_ he thought) now had three points. America was still whining, England sighing in response. "What happened now?"

"They took driver out!" he yelled, looking worriedly at the older man. "Here, here, here," he said, grabbing the remote and clicking the rewind button on the DVR to go back, finally stopping as the two watched 80 get tackled to the ground, America shouting, "There! You see it?" as he pointed to the television. England winced as he watched the man's ankle twist underneath his weight and the weight of the man who had sent him to the ground, thinking that that had looked quite painful. Then again, he had had worse, but in this day and age he didn't have to worry about being mutilated and injured by other countries.

"That does look quite painful," he said rather quietly, though once again he didn't get a response as America was simultaneously watching the game and stuffing popcorn in his face.

Turns out through the rest of the second quarter there was another injury from the Packers, one that sounded even more painful as England watched 21 roll to the ground to what he would assume was a collarbone injury. Not to mention 88 from the other team had been sent out earlier, meaning three players had had to throw in the towel and it wasn't even the end of the second half.

"This game is rather violent, America."

"Mm-hmm," the other country replied, taking a long slurp of his cola. The players were now heading off the field for the halftime show, the camera men zooming in on the object of England's affections. He gulped as he took in those beautifully sculpted arms, that hair that flowed down his back so majestically. Clay Matthews took off his helmet for the end of the half and swished his hair again, England catching his breath as the sweat made his skin shine. "Oh God, oh God, oh God," England felt his heart beat through his chest as his erection from before returned.

As the television broke for a slew of commercials before it started, America looked over to England, setting his beverage down. Noticing the elder country looked a bit perturbed he pat the seat next to him, the sound of his palms hitting the sofa making the other jump.

"Why are you all alone over there? Y'know you can come sit over here with me, right?"

Of course, with the new erection England was sporting that this time refused to go away he just nervously laughed it off. Like hell he was going to move. "Ahaha, it's quite alright, lad, I'm fine over here by myself."

"C'mon, stop being like that. Just get your ass over here; you being all by yourself makes me feel lonely."

"No, no, it's okay. This is chair is rather comfortable and…"

"Iggy," America said, a tone of demand evident in his voice.

"Yes?"

"Get over here."

"I alright told you no!" the shorter nation yelled, and at this America stood up. The Black Eyed Peas had already started playing in the background, the crowd cheering as one of the members that England couldn't remember started singing into his microphone. Of course, he wasn't too focused on the television, but instead on the taller nation slowly closing in on him. "A-A-America?" he stuttered.

Of course, at the moment the taller blond lifted him right out of his seat and as England shrieked in surprise he turned around and plopped him on the couch as if he were a sack of potatoes. He was about to scream obscenities at America, but was too worried that the other had felt his hard on to really say anything about it.

The rest of the halftime show was watched in silence, America only spazzing for a minute when Slash ascended from the bottom of the stage, only to stop when the female started singing, muttering under his breath that she wasn't Axl Rose and should stick to her own songs. It had seemed that America hadn't noticed, and at this England let out a sigh of relief.

Of course, just as he let this out both teams had marched back onto the field, Clay Matthews long hair fluttering with every step the man took while jogging back to the side of the field where the Packers were located. Within the first few minutes the camera zoomed out to resume the game, and England saw how the man squatted into position and readied himself, the ball flying backwards as number 52 launched at his opponents and brought them down with a quick and deadly ferocity that made the sorry player underneath him look like a rag doll. That pristine white number gleaming on the field as he sacked the other team, his hair flowing behind him and muscles flexing as he leapt onto them…

"Uh…Iggy…you okay?"

England hadn't even noticed that he was panting, clenching the blanket that he had on him when on the other chair, a death grip around the fibers that held it together as he grit his teeth together.

"Wha? I'm fine, fine!" England spat out rather quickly and nervously, wringing the edge of the blanket he was holding onto with his hands. He let out a forced chuckle and America raised an eyebrow, studying the other before placing a hand to the other's forehead. England gasped at the contact, all senses heightened as his member twitched in anticipation.

"You're burning up!" America gasped, and immediately tried scooping the other up in his arms.

"What are you doing?" England yelped, putting up a struggle as the American tried to lift him up from his seat a second time.

"C'mon, Iggy, we've got to get you into bed or something…"

"I'm fine, really, it's nothing!"

"You're temperatures got to be over 100 degrees! You probably got a fever from standing out in the cold so long."

"Git, that was your fault! Put me down, you insipid, oafish…"

But America had stopped when he had tried to grab the other nation from around his front and felt his hard on brush against his hand. America's sudden halt also made England pause, feeling the friction against his vital regions made him go red in the face as he saw the gears turning in the American's brain.

"E…E…Eng…." America stuttered, both of their faces now a very dark shade of red, though England's seemed to be much worse. Finding it difficult to call the country by name, he gulped, "Arthur?"

"…"

"I…I don't…I don't get it."

"Let's just forget about it and watch the game…" England said, sitting back down on the couch, although his eyes went wide again as he saw that number crouch down and pick the now fumbled ball off of the ground and run. It then cut to slow motion once the play was over to show exactly how Clay Matthews had run into the opposing player full force and hit his elbow, knocking the ball out, and while the rest of the players ran around or stood in shock like a mighty wind he scrambled to pick it up and then take off.

America noticed how England had tensed upon glancing at the television. At first he was shocked seeing the other superpower like this, but then he couldn't help but feel a chuckle rising within him. He tried holding it back, stifling it only for a second before it broke past his lips and he let out a rather loud laugh, not forgetting to point as well.

"Dude…dude…" he got out between laughs, England now looking at him rather angrily, face still a very dark red, "you've got a boner for Clay Matthews!"

"I…I do not!" England obviously lied. America couldn't help but fall to the floor in fits of laughter, feeling a side-splitting ache, and even though it hurt like hell he couldn't stop laughing.

"You do too!" he spat out, finally feeling his laughter slow down, but only for a second. "Oh my God, this is just too funny."

"Pipe down, you twat! So what if I do? He's relatively good looking!"

Of course, at that the younger just started laughing loudly again, England feeling his rage slowly building inside of him almost overtaking how turned on he was. "He looks like France! You've got a boner for France!"

Oh hell no, now no one said that to him. England felt himself get to his feet as he pounced on the American. "He looks nothing like that horrid looking frog, you take that back!" The two wrestled on the ground, America not really putting up a fight from being consumed by fits of laughter as England continued to lightly hit him, their bodies squirming together as the older nation tried to still the other's body shaking with laughter.

There movements only lasted for a second though, as one tiny movement sent England's crotch colliding into America's, both suddenly stilled by the action when America let out a rather low moan. Everything became eerily quiet save for the television in the background.

"Rodgers looking for an open man at the eight."

Their eyes were focused on the others, America's baby blue staring curiously and nervously into England's emerald green, their breaths slowing down immensely.

"Steelers closing in on him and he throws and there it goes."

America could feel his cheeks turning pink, their lips seeming to get closer and closer as they continued to stare into each other's eyes.

"Caught by Jennings!"

And just as their lips touched, England closing his eyes, he could hear the announcer yelling in excitement, "Touchdown!"

Their kiss only stayed gentle for a split second, as after America shut his eyes the real game began. Mashing their lips together hungrily the two battled for dominance, England determined to not be outdone by his former colony yet America not giving up either. Tongues darted out and began licking each other, saliva dripping from their open mouths, America finally able to shove the Brit's back into his mouth as he let his tongue run over gums, teeth, everything that could be explored. Meanwhile they roughly thrusted their hips into each other, thriving off of the feeling of their clothed crotches grinding against each other. They both let out rather loud moans as they broke, wildly panting and their movements stilled save for the rise and fall of their heaving chests.

"What was…what was that?" England finally managed to get out once his breath returned. America instead laid a gentle kiss to the other's lips, a small peck, before giving another one to his cheek and then his collar, England letting out another groan as the taller left an invisible line of kisses up and down his neck.

"America…America…" England chanted, meaning to get the other to listen to him but instead them coming out like pleasurable moans. The other nipped and sucked, finally biting a bit hard and breaking the other's skin.

"Alfred!"

This actually did make the younger stop and listen; it had been quite a while since England had called him that. "Hmm?"

"Why…why are we…?"

"Don't know," the other said, lightly beginning to thrust his hips into England's again. "Does it feel good?"

"Yes, dear God, yes. Don't stop…don't stop or I'll…"

Smiling at his harmless threats, America took the opportunity to remove England's tie and strip him of his shirt, undoing the buttons of the white Oxford one-by-one, opening it up and taking in the creamy skin, the other's chest still rapidly moving up and down. He licked his lips as he drank in the sight of his naked torso, his hand tracing up and down the Brit's chest, a single finger drawing circles around his abdomen. England gasped at the feather light touches, and the taller used this to his advantage to give him another quick, open-mouthed kiss before his head dipped down to meet one of the Englishman's small, pert nipples.

A string of moans and expletives left the Brit's mouth as the taller country circled the nub with his tongue, twirling the other one that wasn't in his mouth with a few of his fingers. England could feel the tightening in his pants at America's ministrations, feeling ready to burst at any minute, _"Dear God," _he felt himself thinking about how long it had been since he'd been touched like this, blaming what little control he felt he had over his own body on the long lapse of time.

At that point America switched, his mouth lapping at the one that had been between his fingers, sensually making the small bug peak and stand at attention. The usual light pink was replaced by a darker shade to show that it had been fondled. However, the other nipple wasn't being abused as it's counterpart had when it was in America's mouth; instead that hand traveled down the Brit's body and rested over his straining manhood. Being palmed through his clothing sent a tingle down the smaller nation's spine as he felt himself thrusting into that hand.

"Alfred…Alfred…oh yes, please…"

America couldn't help it that hearing his actual name from the Brit's mouth made him even harder. He removed his mouth from the abused nipple on England's chest, as he couldn't fully well concentrate on what he was doing with the way the smaller country was moaning and begging for more beneath him. His hands undid the button and zipper of both their trousers swiftly, and grabbing the waistband of the other's pants and boxers he pulled them down simultaneously to his knees, following suit with his own bottoms. He didn't kick them off, only dragged them down far enough so that his fully erect member was exposed, and hell, the open air felt so good he could have felt like releasing right then and there.

Of course, with a low, guttural moan at the contact he didn't, as he lowered himself onto England and immediately started thrusting their bare erections together. The skin-on-skin contact felt brilliant and caused both to moan each others names loudly. While it started out with extremely sloppy thrusting with no apparent timing, the two were able to establish a rhythm and found each other screaming and almost weeping from the pleasure.

"Alfred…I need you now…please, just please…"

"Arthur?"

Of course America's inability to read the atmosphere (or perhaps his naiveté, England really couldn't tell which one it was) had to work its way into the situation now. "Just put it in me, you git!" he yelled, following by a rather harsh thrust of the hips, their members scraping together harder than before which caused both countries to moan loudly.

Of course, they had nothing to go off of, and America wasn't really too fond of the idea of hurting the other. Sticking his fingers in his mouth, America started to suck on the digits to coat them up. Though to the blonde beneath him, he wasn't going fast enough.

"Oh for the love of…" he started out before just pushing the American over so that the taller lay on his back. He then got on top of him, bottom slightly hovering over the blue eyed man's erection, his own standing straight against his stomach. Lining up his hole with the tip, the older nation slowly began to push himself down, grimacing at the pain that followed from not having any prep. As the Brit continued to descend onto his aching hard-on, America bit his lip, trying to control himself and not just cum on the spot or, for the sake of the other, begin ramming into him fast and hard.

Once England was fully impaled he let out a shallow breath, the pain that shot up his spine almost too much to handle. His whole body shook as he tried to stop himself from actually crying, feeling himself starting to sniffle and groan from the ache that overtook his body. But at the same time it felt so good to be filled, and he closed his eyes and tried to focus on that instead of the immense hurting that circulated throughout his body.

"Don't cry," he heard the voice from under his say ever so softly, a hand coming up to gently wipe away the tear. He hadn't let a tear slip, had he? But at the feeling of the hand gently caressing his cheek he opened his eyes to see that he had, and noticed the soft smile the American had etched across his face. The pain subsided a bit then, England feeling that the other genuinely cared that he was in pain.

Of course, until he opened his mouth to speak further.

"I mean, I know that having sex with a hero like me is so amazing it'd make you want to cry…"

To which the Englishman furrowed his brows in frustration and forced his muscles to clench his bottom over the American's erection.

"What was that you were saying, lad?"

"Ahhh…ahhh…I was just teasing…ahhhh…"

To which the Englishman couldn't help but smirk as he lifted himself up off the American, though just enough to keep the man's tip embedded in his ass, and ignored the searing pain that shot back through him as he slammed himself roughly back down. America threw his head back and arched upward at that, sending himself further into the Brit, and even though every nerve within him was screaming in pain, England didn't stop as he lifted himself again and pummeled the younger nation's member right into his prostate.

"Oh yes, right there!"

Without warning he sped up, slamming himself onto the American's erection, his own bobbing up and down with his movements. He could feel himself getting closer each time he forced himself back down, the smacking sounds of his bottom slapping against America's crotch driving him insane with the intense feeling of his prostate being assaulted over and over again, harder each time.

The American wasn't faring any differently. Each time that tight heat engulfed his member he let out a grunt, a moan, or a slurred, funny sounding version of England's name. Both were attacked by wave upon wave of pleasure, too immersed in what they were doing to even care about the game still going on behind them, the seconds ticking down in the final quarter, counting down the moment to when they would both explode.

Finally, feeling as if the taller blonde had just simply had enough of being in his current position, he rose his hips in the air to get up and flip the shorter nation over. While his attempt was successful he was able to drive his member further into the Brit, who let out a rather loud moan as he was forced to his back. Animalistic need took over America as his extra strength and youthfulness in comparison to England were able to drive him faster and harder into him, if that was even possible. He thrusted his hips wildly into the other, sending himself further and further into the realm of pleasure that he had been desperately seeking this whole time and was finally able to grant.

They could both feel their completion, it was mere seconds away, and with the loud chants of fans and the announcers on the television in the background America made a grab for England's erection that was screaming for release, swiftly moving his fist back and forth as he squeezed and tugged in all the right places.

"The final snap…"

And with the America's back arched as he drove his member into the Brit and came inside of him, he let out a mixed cry of satisfaction, calling out his name, "Arthur!" as his seed spewed into England's hole and he was milked dry.

"The Green Bay Packers have won the Superbowl!"

England came mere seconds after the taller blonde, coating the other's hand in a sticky substance, his seed spreading onto his stomach and America's shirt, feeling himself be filled with the essence of America as the others cum dripped down his cheeks and onto the floor. Both gasped for air, letting their breaths catch up from the incredible and intense feelings and physical activity. America collapsed onto the smaller nation, but held himself up a little bit as not to crush him under his larger frame.

"Dude…" America spat out after a few seconds of labored breathing. "That was awesome."

"You better be talking about what we just did because if you say anything about the bloody game I swear…"

To which America laughed, turning his head to the screen to look at the final score. "Chill, man, of course I was talking about the sex."

"Damn right you were."

"Besides, I knew the Packers were going to win anyway."

**END**

**Wow, that was a long one.**

**Anyway, I hope the next time you watch the Superbowl you get the mental image of America and England doing the naughty inside your lovely little heads. I know I'll probably never be able to watch it again without doing so.**

**Then again, 2011 was the first year I actually sat down to watch a full game of American football. But it was all in good fun because I had great friends and excellent food.**

**P.S. If this somehow gets passed to Clay Matthews: I LOVE YOU, LET ME HAVE YOUR BABIES.**

**-cough cough- Well, now that I actually got that out of my system…read and review, over and out! -Nibzo**


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